


How soon is Now?

by LittleFace



Category: The Cult (Band), The Smiths
Genre: 1970s, Crossover, England is Mine (Movie), Manchester, Time Travel, Time slip, just 3 lads being good mates, kinda silly, no shipping in this one sorry, present day
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-21
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,479
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24306892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleFace/pseuds/LittleFace
Summary: “Oh thank fuck,” Billy panted between heavy breaths, “I’m not the only one.”Steven Patrick Morrissey and Johnny Maher turned their bodies to see where the voice had come from, their faces instantly lighting up to see their local mate Billy Duffy stood before them, not a day older than 18.“Fucking hell mate, I don’t know about you but things are a bit weird around town today aren’t they?” a 16 year-old Johnny grinned.18 year-old Billy Duffy and the singer of his band The Nosebleeds, 19 year-old Steven Morrissey alongside local 16 year-old guitar whizz Johnny Maher find themselves somehow magically transported from the year 1978 to present day Manchester.Now tasked with the issue of surviving in a world much different to the one they inhabited the day before, will they ever find their way back to their original year? Will they spoil the entirety of what their lives hold in store for them decades before it is set to happen?
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	1. William, this really is something.

**Author's Note:**

> I always wanted to write a fic with these three, they kinda have a bit of a three musketeers vibe to them.  
> Just a light hearted idea I came up with when I was lying in bed, I thought I may as well put my useless knowledge of my city and it's famous musicians to good use LOL
> 
> Btw this is my first time writting Morrissey and Marr, I've always been a bigger Cult fan (although I LOVE my Smiths) so as such if I don't portray them quite as accurately as Billy and Ian thats why.  
> Tl;dr pls no bulli i tried my best.

It was 8pm on a balmy Tuesday night in 1978 when Billy Duffy paced down the residential Wythenshawe road he had grown up on.  
His guitar case swung in an arc beside him, casting long dark shadows against the orange evening sun bathed pavement.  
His band The Nosebleeds that he and another local lad, Steven Morrissey, had joined after feuds between past members dissipated the band, had just completed their last practice session.  
They had a gig that weekend, a real one.  
And word was about that a London based record company scout was going to be in attendance.  
This was it, their chance to hit the big time.  
Billy paused beside the grass verge in front of the row of terraced houses where he lived, and felt around the deep pockets of his leather jacket, fishing for his keys.  
“I’m home,” he announced to his mother from the hall.  
“Alright, Love? I’ve put you some tea in the oven, did practice go well?” she called from the living room.  
He began ascending the stairs directly facing the front door, pausing half way up between numerous wooden framed family photographs,  
“Yeah it went good…ta for the food… I’ll come back down and get it in a minute.”  
His footfalls on the stairs and landing creaked and groaned throughout the whole house.  
When he opened the door to his room, he only caught a glimpse of what should have normally awaited him before he fainted. 

-

Billy’s mop of long brown hair was obscuring the view from the floor he lay on when he awoke.  
He felt like he’d slept for ten minutes, but the light pouring in from the window told him it was already morning outside.  
To his side, his guitar still lay in its hard case, thankfully cushioned from the fall.  
What the hell had happened last night?  
Nothing like that had ever happened to him before, Billy didn’t just pass out from of nowhere like that.  
He parted his hair from his face to get a better look and scrambled to his feet.

The same clothes he’d worn the prior day were still on his body, but that was about the only thing that remained.  
Where his room had been a pale blue last time he checked, was now bland beige.  
His bed was gone- replaced by a desk on which a strange contraption that looked like a typewriter was sat, the wall where his posters of The New York Dolls, Manchester City Football Club and various other paraphernalia was now the showcase for a variety of photographs of people he’d never seen before.  
Billy peered closer at the photographs.  
The first thing that struck him was that they were so clear. He had never seen a photograph quite like this before- the lighting and how crisp and contrasted the subjects were…striking.  
The second thing he noticed was that he knew not a single one of the people in the photos. They were a family it appeared, a man, a woman and a young girl.  
He paced to the window, where shutter blinds had now been installed in place of his curtains, and saw the street from above.  
The cherry trees were still there, but the cars parked on the curb were so very _odd_ looking.  
They were round, huge things painted in the most obnoxious metallic colours imaginable, like something he would of expected to see in a science fiction movie.  
Confusion was beginning to cloud Billy’s judgment.  
Picking up his guitar case, he decided to explore the house a bit more.

Outside his room on the landing, the confusion continued in the form of more redecoration and photos of strangers.  
Was this really his house? It can’t be.  
He decided to try his luck though and cautiously called out,  
“Mum? You in?”  
No response.  
“Mam?” he tried again, louder when he reached the bottom of the stairs.  
The living room followed the same predictable pattern as the rest of the house; being a different shade than the time he’d known it when he last entered.  
Strange cuboid-like furniture replaced the plush patterned couch from the day prior, and in place of the TV set was a huge black flat square.  
What in the world was going on?  
He knew one thing though. Whoever lived here, whoever those people were in the photographs- they weren’t home right now.  
“Am I going mad or something?” he breathed to himself when he came back into the hall.  
Billy needed to get out and explore to find out just what the hell was happening.  
The front door, like finding an old friend in a dark nighttime alley, was the same as the one he knew and loved, and still appeared to lock from the inside.  
But what if they had changed the locks and he couldn’t get back in? He opened the door and tested to see if he could slide his key into the contraption, and surely enough his key still worked.  
That was a relief.  
This was surely his house.

Billy slunk out of the front door, his head darting around for possible ambush. He felt like an outsider in this world, whatever the hell this world was.  
He began walking down the street, stopping at what used to be a dead end but what was now a tram-stop.  
This was impossible.  
Tramlines don’t just appear over night. Not in a million years would that be possible to accomplish in under 24 hours.  
A few people loitered about, seemingly in their own world with headphones jammed into their ears, and a sign on a ticker above read tram arrival and departure times.  
As he approached, he noticed the peculiar act many of the passengers were engaging in- they were using small square pieces of plastic held up to another contraption built into the ground to create a low beeping sound that indicated an agreeable tone.  
Billy took a seat on the cold metal bench, and waited for the tram to come. 

-

Billy thanked his lucky stars when he alighted the tram stop in the area of Manchester that was calling itself St. Peters Square (for it looked nothing like the St. Peters Square Billy knew).  
He had been concerned he would be quizzed on his inability to produce one of the plastic squares that it appeared people were paying the fare for their travel with, and as such he would be reprimanded for absconding fares.  
Thankfully- he’d come across no staff during his journey into the city, and was now drifting aimlessly around outside the city library.  
Were people looking at him funny? He could have sworn they were.  
Perhaps it was his clothes- everyone dressed so differently to him here.

In his daze of not quite rightly knowing what to do or where to go, it seemed that a faint desperation for familiarity took over his senses, and he almost floated across the road to the venue where many of his favourite gigs had taken place.  
The Lesser Free Trade Hall.  
Except it wasn’t a concert hall anymore. It was a hotel.  
Down the side street that ran alongside the building, Billy paused to let the information he’d just received sink in.  
More strange changes to the world he thought he knew.  
This was all becoming a bit too much, because there was no rational explanation for what was going on.  
Was he stuck here now in this strange world, with just the clothes on his back and the guitar in his case?  
Just when he was so close to possibly getting a break through in his career too.  
He couldn’t go home either- those strangers would most probably take to calling the police if they found a stranger in ‘their’ house.  
Billy was about to let the despair starting to gnaw in his stomach consume him, when he heard what was the equivalent to a light being shone in the dark. 

“For the last time, I don’t know what’s going on, Steven!”  
Billy’s legs carried him as fast as they could up the side alley to where what should have opened to reveal the abandoned train station on Windmill Street. Except of course, it was no longer abandoned.  
“Oh thank fuck,” Billy panted between heavy breaths, “I’m not the only one.”  
Steven Patrick Morrissey and Johnny Maher turned their bodies to see where the voice had come from, their faces instantly lighting up to see their local mate Billy Duffy stood before them, not a day older than 18.  
“Fucking hell mate, I don’t know about you but things are a bit weird around town today aren’t they?” a 16 year-old Johnny grinned, overwhelmingly glad to see his fellow guitarist friend.  
Steven wore a sour expression,  
“I just want to go home.”  
“Weird question- but how did you get here in the first place?” Billy asked, taking a seat on the concrete steps in front of the old train station.  
“I don’t know- one minute I was at home alone and the next I’m here with him,” Steven motioned to Johnny.  
“Did you pass out at all?” Billy asked.  
“How did you know that?” Johnny gasped.  
“Same happened to me, except I woke up at home…I don’t think it’s a good idea to go home Steven.”  
The faint noise of traffic and passing trams broke in between the conversation.  
“Why not?”  
“Well, when I woke up this morning, my home wasn’t exactly…well my home…it was like I didn’t live there anymore, there were all these weird pictures of this family of people I’ve never met in my life in my room…and me mam wasn’t home either,”  
Steven buried his head in his hands,  
“Oh, why do such awful things always happen to me…?”  
“Personally I think it’s kind of cool in a weird way,” Johnny got to his feet, “I think we should explore…and find out what the hell has happened.”  
“Johnny, this is not _‘cool’_ at all, for all we know we could technically be homeless right now!” Steven snapped.  
“Either way, what else are we going to do?” Johnny retorted,  
“Come on Billy, if he wants to be a mard-arse let him, we’ll go explore”.  
Reluctantly, Steven Morrissey dragged behind the two guitarists.


	2. Go West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A reluctant Steven follows Billy and Johnny further into the changed city and seems to be the one with the insight (or perhaps guts) to get to the bottom of what has truthfully happened to them all.   
> Johnny gets just a little too enthusiastic about a particular book in the book store, and perhaps they aren't quite on their own as they previously thought...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot to mention in the first chapter's notes that this fic was heavily inspired by the accounts of time slips on Liverpool's Bold St. (Seriously google it, it's freaky even if you believe or not). 
> 
> Btw for those who aren't aware, it would be extremely weird for someone to travel from '70s Manchester to present day Manchester as the outlay of the city was so drastically changed by a bomb that was detonated in 1996 and essentially forced the council to improve the city (it was pretty rough apparently beforehand, but as a 24 year old who was literally 1 when the bomb went off I can't attest to this lmao).

The street names were the same- the streets themselves were not.   
What used to be roads running through the main city streets were now pedestrianised- and somewhat easier to navigate through.  
“Do you think the Arndale is still here?” Johnny asked as they strolled down another unfamiliar-yet-familiar street.   
“I think that answers your question,” Billy motioned directly in front of them, where between the old style Victorian buildings was the top of a high rise building peeking over the main shopping strip.  
Steven, who was still lacking behind after ten minutes of walking, finally piped up.  
“There’s a newsagents over here.”  
“What’s so special about that?” Johnny asked, ten paces ahead.  
“You really don’t take the time to think do you? Come here,”  
Steven pointed towards a rack displaying the day’s newspapers and motioned for the two other lads to follow his direction.  
“What are you getting at?” Johnny asked when they came to a halt awkwardly in front of the stand.  
Steven ignored the question and proceeded to pick up one of the papers from the rack, hoping that the shopkeeper wouldn’t think they were shoplifting given their shifty demeanor.   
His eyes scanned the page, and instantly his face dropped.  
“I don’t…I can’t…no…”  
“Come on spit it out man!” Billy spluttered impatiently, grabbing the paper from his friend’s hands.  
The newspaper was dated 20th May 2020.   
“Shit man, what the fuck….”  
Johnny, eager to see what the fuss was about peered over Billy’s shoulder after the sight of his friend’s hand gluing itself to his mouth to hide his shock.   
“Oh my god, 90p for a newspaper? What kind of robbing- Oh…”  
“Everything alright, lads?”  
The shopkeeper’s voice startled all three of them, and it took a few seconds before Johnny finally spoke for them all.  
“Yeah just having a mooch, thanks mate.”

-

“Are you meaning to tell me we’ve traveled forty-fucking-two years into the _bastard_ future?” Billy gasped.  
They were perched on a bench in the middle of the busy shopping centre known as The Arndale.   
“I think…we have…. it explains everything when you think…things changing, people looking at us funny…. your house, Billy…” Steven replied from where he was staring into the floor.   
“I still think it’s pretty cool, think about it…what if we were to meet our older selves?”   
Ever the enthusiastic one at only 16, Johnny seemed to be enjoying the predicament they were in.   
“No Johnny, this isn’t cool…what if we can’t get back? We won’t be able to look after ourselves, we are homeless right now technically…”  
Billy was with Steven on this one, what originally felt like a weird day and a bit of a laugh was turning into a nightmare.  
“Do any of you lot have any money?”  
Johnny and Steven fished around their pockets for their wallets.   
“Okay that’s good, so at least we won’t starve”, Billy said as he pulled out his own wallet.   
“We should look ourselves up in the telephone directory, maybe we could contact our future selves and get help from them?” Johnny suggested.   
“Sounds like a plan, but first…I’m absolutely starving, how about you two?” Billy replied, “I wonder what food from the future tastes like.”

-

The look of confusion on the cashiers face as Steven attempted to pay for the vegetarian meal he had ordered from one of the many food outlets, signified that they were going to have to wait on finding out what future food tasted like.   
“Um…just let me speak to my manager,” the spotty faced teenager croaked as he retreated into a separate room.  
When he returned moments later, he had bad news.  
“I’m sorry, we can’t accept your payment as this is no longer legal tender,”   
He passed the crumpled money back to Steven, who abruptly returned to where Billy and Johnny were waiting.  
“What happened there?” Billy asked from behind folded arms.   
“He says the money is no longer valid, they don’t use this anymore,” his grip opened to reveal a crumpled Queen Elizabeth and a low rumble worked its way out of Steven’s stomach.   
“Ah shit…maybe we should just go back to plan A and look for the telephone directory?”   
“Where are we going to find one of those right now though?” Steven huffed.  
Johnny searched the ceiling for the answer, and pouted his lips.  
“Book store?” Billy suggested. 

-

After searching for the bookstore they had known prior to exist but was now a clothes shop, they finally came upon a shop on the second level of the complex that appeared to sell what they needed.  
“Alright, does anyone want to ask or shall we just look for ourselves?” Billy asked as they crossed into the shop.   
“Nah lets explore, plus they might think we’re weird, who just wants a phone directory out of nowhere, even if it is 2020?” Johnny replied.  
“I had another thought too…” Steven mused as they walked through the fiction section, “have any of you two seen many phone boxes around? Because I know I haven’t.” 

That was a point.   
Since walking around the city beginning that morning, it had been a rare occasion to see a phone box anywhere.   
And the ones they had seen were beaten up, graffitied and out of order. And what’s to say that their currency wouldn’t be an issue again?   
“Hmm yeah, that’s a point actually…maybe they use something different nowadays to contact one another…in fact I keep seeing loads of people with those plastic squares in their hands… lets have a look for some books that might tell us about that,” Billy suggested. 

They searched quietly for ten minutes, only muttering lowered ‘excuse me’s’ and weaving their way awkwardly around shoppers, when a middle-aged woman tapped Johnny on the shoulder meekly.   
“I’m sorry to bother you Love, but I couldn’t resist as I’m such a big fan…has anyone told you how much you look just like Johnny Marr from The Smiths before?”   
A blank expression took over Johnny’s face.  
“Johnny who now?”  
“Johnny Marr, oh you’re too young…kids these days…Google him when you get home Lovie, you’re the absolute spits of him when he was younger!”  
Johnny knitted his eyebrows together,  
“I should what him when I get home?”  
“Google, Lovie” she smiled.  
“What’s a Google?”  
The woman paused from where she was bending down to retrieve her woven shopping bag.  
“You don’t know what Google is? How very odd…anyways that’s not for me to judge, actually, here look at this,”  
She paced over to the book section with the header ‘Music’ and pulled out a soft-backed book, handing it to the boy in front of her.  
It was entitled ‘Set the Boy Free – Johnny Marr’.

“Oh my God.”   
He hadn’t meant for the expression to come out quite as loud as it did, and a few faces turned to see what the scuffle was all about.  
Here, a 16-year old boy was holding his future self’s autobiography.   
It was like he was holding the Holy Grail.   
To the shoppers around him, he was a slightly over-excited teenager holding the autobiography of one of the city’s most beloved musicians.   
Still in a daze, he almost floated over to where Billy and Steven were still concentrating hard on the task at hand.  
Should he open it?   
Even just seeing the photograph of himself as a middle-aged man on the front cover seemed like a crime towards the time-space continuum.   
Should he really be in possession of such an object?  
Even just the book in itself existing had solidified two things to him-  
One, he’d made it; somewhere along the line he got famous as a guitar player.  
Two, he was famous for being in a band called _The Smiths_.  
That was already two strikes against him.

“Err, I…I found something” he muttered to the two lads who had their backs to him.  
“Go on, then” Billy invited.  
He held up the book that the woman had handed to him, presenting it as an Olympian might display their medals.   
“Shit, Steven look at the back!” Billy exclaimed.  
Johnny in his complete and utter disbelief had failed to look at the blurb of the book, which displayed a photo of a slightly older, more well groomed Steven along side a twenty-something looking year-old Johnny and two other lads.   
“We shouldn’t be knowing this!” Steven snatched the book from Billy’s hands; “we could be upsetting some form of timeline right now!”   
“Well I’m not in it anywhere let me read it,” Billy grabbed it back, and began flipping through the pages,  
“Oh….oh shit, I err…I was wrong.”

His thumb was jammed between two glossy pages in the book displaying photos from throughout Johnny’s life.  
The page he stopped at showed a photo of a slightly older Billy, with long blonde hair and the hint of a beard, with his arm around another slightly older looking Johnny than the previous photo from the blurb.  
Below, the caption read that the photo was dated to 1990.   
“This is us 12 years from now…or then…whatever, What. The. Fuck!” Johnny’s voice grew sharper and higher.  
“Shhhh…shut up, people are staring they must think we’re crazed fans or something…” Steven hissed. 

“Is there anything on me in the music section?” Billy was invested now.   
Steven and Johnny had their confirmation that they made it.   
Now was time for his, where was his autobiography?  
“Maybe you didn’t make it, maybe I took pity on you and put a photo of my old friend Billy Duffy who grew into a washed up Jesus look-alike hippy in my book,” Johnny jibed.  
“Oi fuck off! Remember who sold you your first amp you cheeky shit” he drove a sharp elbow jab into Johnny’s ribs, “plus I bet that hairstyle was fashionable or something so sod off.”  
Billy scanned the spines of the books in the music section hungrily.   
“I can’t find anything with my name on it, but Steven look…”  
He pointed at a book with a thick spine and the ‘Penguin Classic’ branding that simply read ‘Autobiography – Morrissey’.  
“So what, there could be plenty of other people with the last name Morrissey, and I don’t care to find out either.”  
Steven fought the urge in him to rip the book out from it’s dwelling and figure out the truth, his self fulfilling prophecy must be true, someone of his level of genius has to have made it.  
But the photograph on the back of Johnny’s book was enough to solidify that.   
He didn’t need to upset any time-space continuum any more than need be.   
So he turned his back from the book, and marched his way to the front of the store.

-

Not too far from where the three lads were discovering truths about themselves they rightfully shouldn’t know for another twenty years, a train was pulling into Manchester Victoria train station, marked as having departed from Liverpool Lime Street.   
A peculiar looking 17 year old stepped onto the dark train platform; his short-cropped Mohawk and Native American inspired dress drawing attention from onlookers who had never quite seen anything like it before.   
A rolled up magazine poked out of the left pocket of the long coat he wore, and his pale hand retrieved a mobile phone from the right.   
Maps….maps….where was that Google maps thing again on this blasted thing?


	3. Stop me if you think you've heard this one before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Johnny works out a way to make the group some quick cash, Billy continues to soul search for who he is to become, and Steven notices a strange young man who seems to be watching all three of them like a hawk.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am aware the dates and ages don't teeeechnically all match up in this. I wanted a good range of ages for the group to give it some dynamism. I'm also just a bit shit at maths. Sorry about that LOL.
> 
> Also some little translation notes just to clear up any confusion:
> 
> The guitarist referring to his 'dinner' is referring to lunch. In the North of England it is common for Lunch to be referred to as 'Dinner' and the evening meal to be referred to as 'Tea'.
> 
> For American readers, in the UK you have to be 18 or over to order alcohol, so Billy expecting to be served is accurate.

“So we’re no closer to finding help and I’m still hungry,” Steven complained as the light from outside enveloped them as they exited the Arndale.   
“What we need is some money…” Billy mused.  
He became aware of the fact he was still lugging around his guitar at the side of him, the object that had been his sole companion when he’d arrived that morning in the year 2020.   
There were buskers around on the street, and as they passed by, Billy noticed the strange looking money that people were tossing into the instrument cases that laid open inviting tips in.   
“Look at the money…” Billy whispered under his breath to the two lads at his side, “it’s plastic, like those squares everybody has.”  
Johnny stopped dead in the middle of the busy street,  
“Billy, wait…you have your guitar don’t you?”  
He nodded and held up the hard brown leather case,  
“Yeah but we can’t busk, it’s electric…nobody will hear without an amp.”  
Johnny scanned the scene, and then made a beeline for a greying man playing a clear toned Telecaster and waited a few moments for him to finish his song.  
“Excuse me!”  
The man looked up with a disinterested glare.  
“Can I have a go, mate?”   
Johnny’s smile reached the corners of his face.  
The man’s glare morphed into a grimace,  
“Why in the world would I let a stranger play my guitar?”  
“Because I’m Johnny Ma…“ -he rethought the sentence after remembering the book and his apparent age- “I’m Johnny Marr’s _son_ ”  
The man let out a guffaw.   
“Yer’ ballsy aren’t you? You look like ‘im though, I’ll give yer that,”  
“Come on, let me prove it,” Johnny bargained.  
The man heaved a heavy sigh, he had to admit- it was quite strange how closely this young man resembled Johnny Marr.   
“Come on then, I’m hungry and I want to get my dinner, you can watch my stuff-“ he picked up the case containing his tips for the day, “If I get back and my set up is gone, there will be hell to pay sonny-boy, I’ll be watching”.  
He motioned with his fingers from his eyes to Johnny’s and walked across the street to the bakery.   
From where they were watching, Billy and Steven could hardly believe what they were seeing.  
“Did he just ask to use that man’s guitar and he _let him?_ ” Steven exhaled.   
Billy rolled his eyes, “Boy-fucking-Wonder strikes again”.

-

It took a few minutes until heads started turning to the young lad that was playing guitar in the busy street.   
Not long after, people were stopping and staring at the remarkable boy that looked just like, and played just like Johnny Marr.   
They began tossing tips into Billy’s empty guitar case that he’d laid down.   
“Look at him!”, “Do you think he’s related in some way?”, “I just can’t put my finger on it…. remarkable!” were just some of the phrases passers by uttered.  
Johnny was simply noodling around the tunes he’d been working on recently, nothing too interesting in his opinion.   
But everyone seemed to love the music, some people were even singing- making up lyrics to go along with the tune.  
Steven was staring at the floor in his usual mopey mood when he noticed a man pointing at him.  
“Right, you’re going to think I’m absolutely crackers Jane, but look at him…”  
Steven lifted his head to get a proper view of the person attached to the hand that was pointing in his direction.   
“Oh my god you’re right, he’s the spits too…his hair is long, but if he had it cut short…my God!”   
The woman had spoken that time around.   
At the side of him, Billy was silently becoming more and more concerned about his future.   
Why were Steven and Johnny being recognised but not him?   
Well, he knew why.   
He was destined to become a nobody.   
He gazed down to the guitar he’d awkwardly slung on his shoulder ten minutes ago so that passers by could toss money into his case for Johnny’s performance, and felt a shot of anger and jealousy come over him for his friend.  
Johnny was younger than him, and already so much more accomplished.   
But what if Billy had become a footballer instead? They hadn’t checked the sports section in the bookshop after all…but no, that was unrealistic- he was already too old for that now…even at 18.  
Maybe he was set to become a washed up hippy after all. Or he’d become a builder like his Dad…he dreaded to think.   
“Are you alright, Billy?”  
Steven had noticed the change in Billy’s demeanor.   
He nodded in response,  
“Yeah man, just a bit tired is all.”

-

“Wow look at how weird this money is,” Johnny mused as they rested on a wooden bench in front of a pub.   
They retrieved a bank note from the case each, feeling the crisp, smooth texture of the plastic note between their fingers.  
“Jesus, how much did you make, Johnny? I’m surprised that guy didn’t want a cut of your profits, seen as it was _his_ guitar you used after all…” Billy said, the late afternoon sun casting a yellow glow onto his ruddy complexion.   
They totted up the cash they’d made.   
Johnny had managed to play for about an hour after the man returned from his lunch break. He was just as astounded as the rest of the onlookers.   
“Jesus, you’ve made almost fifty quid”   
Johnny smirked, clearly content with his day’s earnings,  
“Imagine how much this could buy us back in 1978.”  
“Yeah man, everything is so expensive here…” Billy replied, his head resting in his hand, “this might just buy us a few meals and a hostel if we’re lucky.”  
The smell of ale and clinking of glasses drifted down from the window above them.  
“I could kill for a drink right now, actually” he sighed.  
Johnny smiled and handed a note to his friend.  
“Go on mate, treat yourself, we haven’t come 42 years into the future for nothing.” 

The dark pub enveloped Billy as he ascended the tiled steps into the establishment, the five-pound note Johnny had given to him getting sweaty in his palm.   
The bar was quiet at least, with only the muttering of the day locals to break up the strange, droning synthesized music that played softly in the background.   
Music was a bit weird here too actually, come to think of it.  
Billy surveyed what was on tap, and proceeded to order.   
The barman’s eyes scanned Billy for a second.  
“Can I see some ID, please?”  
Billy thought for a second, and pulled out his Drivers Permit, the only form of ID he had, and handed it to the man.  
The barman’s wrinkled face studied the document for a minute, and a sly laugh followed.  
“You having me on or something?”  
Billy knitted his eyebrows together and he shook his head.  
“What’s the problem? I’m eighteen, it says I am on there.”  
“What’ve you done? Nicked your Dad’s old provisional or something?”  
“What?”  
“Unless you’ve had copious amounts of plastic surgery or something ridiculous, I’m not so inclined to believe you’re 59 years-old, son.”  
Shit. He hadn’t thought about that. Never mind.  
The barman handed his ID back to him, and he returned to where Steven and Johnny were waiting.  
“What’s up? Bar busy or something?” Johnny asked when Billy handed him the cash back.  
“Well, I should be a middle-aged man right now according to this,”  
He held up his drivers permit.   
“Oh shit! I didn’t think of that, I bet he thought you were having him on big style” Johnny laughed.  
Billy couldn’t help but find it funny too, and chuckled along with his friend.  
“There is someone looking at us,” Steven murmured.   
The two lads couldn’t hear over their shared laughter.  
“There is someone looking at us,” He repeated, louder.  
Billy and Johnny heard that time around, and turned to look in the direction of Steven’s eye line.   
Across the road from the pub, was a young man with a mohawk, in a long overcoat and moccasins, wearing the most determined expression all three of them had ever seen.  
“Found you,” the lad grunted.


	4. Hollow Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The strange young man who appeared to be watching the group from a distance makes his dramatic entrance! Ian Astbury- Billy's future bandmate seems to be a little more clued up on the future they now inhabit, and may just be the key to them surviving in this strange new world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for stalling on this! I wasn't entirely sure which direction I wanted to take it in, but I've decided I think I'm going to make it a series :) 
> 
> A little translation note: 
> 
> 'Rough' in the UK is often used in the same way Americans may use the word 'seedy'.
> 
> 'Kip' means to sleep.

“He’s a bit weird looking aint he?” Johnny remarked as the strange lad started walking across the road.   
“Yeah, he looks like one of those American Indians or something,” Billy closed the lid on his guitar case; “maybe he saw how much you made Johnny, be careful- he looks a bit rough”.  
The lad came to a halt in front of them, his eyes scanning the three boys faces,  
“Which one of you is Billy Duffy?”   
The lad had a heavy Merseyside accent.   
“I am,” Billy said motioning to himself, “Why?”  
“I’ve been looking all over for you all day, I was following you lot in the Arndale earlier, but I wasn’t sure if it was really you, Billy- but when I heard your mate play there-“ he nodded towards Johnny, “I knew it was you”.  
Who was this lad? Billy thought.   
Did he know their secret that they were really from the seventies? Had he come to arrest them? Take them to some government agency to be tested on? No way- he looked too young for that- in fact, he was even wearing similar clothes to what they were- he felt more like friend than foe.   
And why did he ask in particular for him? Nobody had recognised Billy all day.   
“You’ve come a long way haven’t you?” the lad said, taking a seat on the bench next to Billy.  
“Are you-“ Steven started.  
“Yeah, I’m from back then too. Been here a fortnight. Oh- I’m Ian by the way. Ian Astbury.”  
“How do you kno- wait, a fortnight? Shit…how many more of us are there?” Billy gasped.   
“Right now, I don’t know. I got lucky, let me explain…” Ian started.

-

Towering, grey cumulonimbus clouds had dominated the sky the day seventeen year-old Ian Astbury walked down Bold St. in Liverpool in May 1978.   
He’d arrived in town to attend one of the gigs a band he followed around the country was putting on.   
He was a true lone wolf, having no family in the UK anymore.  
His father still lived in Canada, and his Mother had very sadly passed away a few years earlier.   
Ian had taken the decision to move back to the UK after a brief stint in the Canadian army hadn’t quite turned on how he planned.   
And due to not having much money, he often slept rough in bus shelters around the country, making ends meet on pocket change.  
Punk was his life now, it had taught him how to look after himself and be self-reliant.   
It was pleasant to be back in the city he knew and loved from being a small child, and a stroll down the streets has been well in order after his coach had pulled into the depot earlier that morning. 

“Shit…” he exhaled as it began showering down hard water pellets from the sky; he watched them ricochet off the ground like small projectiles.   
Sprinting down the street, he stopped to seek cover under the veranda of a clothes shop.  
“Fuck- that came out of nowhere…”   
He turned to look in the shop window, gazing at the display and pulled out a cigarette from the packet with his full lips.  
Then he focused on lighting a match from the packet he retrieved from inside his long overcoat.   
When Ian’s hands came up to cup the flame, a sudden faint feeling took over him. Blood rushed to his head, and he dropped to the floor like a ragdoll.

-

“Is he alright? Someone call 999!”   
The faint, panicked voice of a woman came from above Ian.   
He blinked, the first thing he perceived was a clear blue sky directly above him.   
Then a hand gently shook his shoulder,  
“Are you okay?”   
He opened his eyes properly, gazing down his body; the cigarette lay unlit at the side of his face and the packet was still clutched in his grip.  
“Yeah I’m…” he muttered, “I’m not sure what just happened but I’ll be alright.”  
He rolled his head on the hard concrete to get a better view of the woman conversing with him.  
A light chiffon skirt draped over pale knees met his immediate vision. Ian’s gaze drew further upwards- the concerned, heart-shaped face of a woman in her twenties peered back down at him.   
“You need to be looked over at least…do you have any conditions?”  
Ian shook his head,   
“Seriously, I’m fine don’t worry…I probably just need to eat or something, I’ve not eaten in like a day…”  
Her face grew even more concerned,  
“Come on, we’ll go inside and get you a drink and something to eat,” she held out a hand, and helped Ian get to his feet.

How long had he been out for?   
The weather had completely cleared up; Ian’s overcoat was beginning to feel hot and smothering on his form by the second.  
Just how had the weather improved so quickly?   
The young woman motioned towards the shop he had been stood in front of moment’s earlier lighting the cigarette.  
“But this is a clothes-“  
He stopped mid-sentence, “…shop”.  
The clothes display he had so nonchalantly peered at before he fell down- now looked in on what seemed to be a café.  
Where racks of clothing had been, now were host to a series of tables at which people chattered animatedly.   
Visibly confused, the woman paused- her hand still on the door handle, ready to go in.  
“What’s that? This is a café, it’s always been a café…”  
Ian shook his head,  
“It’s not- it wasn’t…”  
“Are you sure you’re alright? You might have got a concussion on your head when you fell…come on, sit down.”  
She led him to a table near the front of the café,  
“I won’t be a minute, just wait here.” 

What the hell had just happened? Ian rested his head in his hands.   
This was a clothes shop, he could have sworn on his life that this had been a clothes shop five minutes prior.   
“This was a clothes shop, I swear…” he repeated out-loud to himself in a mantra-like state.   
From where Ian was sat, he noticed two young men twisting their bodies to get a better look at him.  
“Did he just.?...” The slimmer one of them was saying.  
“No, you don’t honestly think? I mean look at him-“ his plumper friend replied.  
“Come on Neil, you know the _reputation_ this street has…”  
Ian’s ears pricked up by their own accord, attempting to overhear more of the conversation.   
Reputation? This street? What in the world were they talking about?

“Here,” the woman returned with a sandwich and a glass of water, placing it in front of him.  
“The sandwich is vegan by the way, I didn’t know whether you were or not and didn’t want to chance buying you meat- you know how people are these days.”  
“Vegan? What’s that?” Ian asked, between mouthfuls as he devoured the sandwich instantly.  
He hadn’t realised just how hungry he was.   
Maybe that was the cause of all of this.   
“Vegan? Oh you mustn’t be then, my bad- it’s like vegetarian but you don’t have dairy or, well I guess anything from an animal really.”  
“Are a lot of people vegan now?”  
She nodded,  
“You don’t know?” she chuckled, “it’s really popular in cities now, you’re not from around here are you? I thought you were given your accent.”  
“No- I am…I lived in Canada for a bit, but I’ve been back home in the UK for about a year now, just following bands around really.”   
“Oh so you’re like a nomad- that’s cool,” she smiled.

At the side of her, a loud rumbling emanated from her handbag.  
“Sorry, that’ll be my boyfriend texting me,” she fished in her bag and pulled out a strange, flat plastic object.  
“What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the square that was making the incessant vibrating noise.   
“Really, are you absolutely sure you’re okay?”  
She paused mid-way through tapping the flat side of the object with her fingers.  
“Yeah, I’m okay, trust me- I’ve just never seen one of _those_ before.”  
Her forehead contorted into what resembled a crumpled, un-ironed shirt.  
“You don’t know what a mobile phone is?”  
Ian shook his head.  
“You’re having a laugh right?” she exclaimed, “oh please, tell me you’re kidding- wait…it makes sense now, you’ve read those stupid stories about Bold St. in the news haven’t you? Those time slip crap stories! I don’t believe… the audacity…”  
From where they were sat, Ian strained to continue overhearing the young men from earlier.  
“This is too good Jake…he has to be! Just look at him! I’d take a guess at seventies or eighties…I can’t tell…he looks like a punk though…”  
They were _definitely_ talking about him.   
He shook his head again.  
“I promise I’m not…”  
“Look, I made sure you were okay, but I’m not being taken for a fool like this, just…get home safely alright?” the woman got up, and swiftly left.  
It only took a few seconds for the two lads sat opposite to swoop in on the solitary Ian.

-

“Turns out those two lads were completely obsessed with studying the alleged time slips on Bold St…they couldn’t believe they’d come across a real life time traveler, and they let me kip on their couch for the past two weeks,” Ian laughed.  
The three other lads listened to Ian’s story with fascinated interest, hanging off of his every word.   
“Jesus that’s so lucky…but that doesn’t explain why you came looking for me,” Billy replied.  
The sun was beginning to seep below the horizon now, and the Mancunian skyline was turning a pleasant shade of bright fuchsia.   
“Well, I told them my name…and Jake said he could have sworn he’d heard my name before somewhere…”  
Ian reached down into the pockets of his coat, and pulled out a rolled up magazine, laying it flat with his hands on the wooden table.  
“That…that’s you Billy!” Johnny gasped, pointing to the magazine.  
On the front, a bleach blonde Billy held a pristine white hollow-body guitar, and his friend- a slightly older version of the lad sat beside him but with a long black mane of hair, stared back into the camera.   
The caption underneath them read _‘The Cult’_.


	5. We Hate It When Our Friends Become Successful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ian takes to looking after his three new friends, who are a bunch of Mummy's boys in his eyes.  
> And a young, reckless as ever Johnny doesn't quite realise the scope of his actions- causing a rift to form between Billy and Steven after learning of what becomes of The Nosebleeds and their fated gig....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a lot of fun writing the conversation at the start of this chapter, I really love making Johnny tease Billy like that LOL.  
> Being hippy was really not cool to punk rockers like Johnny and Billy in the late '70s hahaha.
> 
> Translation notes as always:
> 
> 'innit' is short for 'isn't it?'   
> 'nicked' means to steal.

“Ha! I told you I wasn’t destined to become a washed up hippy!” Billy gleefully ejected across the table to Johnny.  
“My point still stands, is that a _paisley patterned shirt_ you’re wearing there?” Johnny snappily hit back, “and _beads_ too?”  
He fell into a fit of laughter on the table, his fist knocking against the wood.  
“I’m also wearing leather trousers, a _Triumph_ belt buckle and a damn iron cross, that’s not exactly hippy- that’s more biker I’d say…”   
Billy crossed his arms in front of him, feeling the weight of embarrassment from apparent fashion-faux-pas committed by his future-self.   
“Mate, look at _him_ though!” Johnny continued to jibe, pointing from the magazine to Ian and back again, “his hair! Look at his patterned pants!” 

“I think you’re missing the point and ignoring the massive issue we still have,” Steven finally interjected, startling the others from where he had quietly watched the discourse in front of him with a bored glare.   
“What are we going to do now we are stuck here? Ian said he’s been here for two weeks… what’s to say we won’t be stuck here for that long? What’s to say we won’t be suck here for years? What if we never get back?”  
Steven’s eyes grew larger and wider as he imagined the worse possible scenarios in his head.  
Was he was going to have to forgo the life fate had planned for him?  
After all, he was destined to become famous- but in what timeline?   
Would he be able to accomplish the same feat two times in a row?  
Steven swallowed hard.

The laughter ceased at Steven’s revelation to the group, and Ian shifted his position,  
“Well I did talk to Jake and Neil about it- they drew up blanks… but they told me the fact that this stuff-“ he pointed to the magazine on the table, “still exists, that means the older versions of us exist in this timeline too…those versions of us already lived the lives that fate had set out for us…”  
“So you’re saying that for sure there are living, breathing doppelgangers of us out there in the world… who are now middle-aged rockers?” Billy asked, and Ian nodded.  
“And that’s a point- you just told those two strangers, Neil and Jake did you say they were called? That you were from 1978?” Billy continued, recalling his earlier fears that the lad in front of them was a government spy.  
Ian smiled, the dimples in his cheeks deepening,  
“Well they did ask me first, and I had no idea what was going on…”  
“You’re absolutely bonkers man, they could have been anybody! What if they’d turned you in to some sort of police or something?”  
Billy could hardly believe his ears at the reckless nature of the lad at his side.  
“I was lucky I suppose…” Ian shrugged.   
“That’s another point, Ian, how did you know for sure Billy was going to be here though?” Steven probed.  
“Again- I got lucky I guess. Those two guys really helped me out, they were Physics students so don’t ask me to explain how they calculated it…they spent most of their time working out where possible time slips could occur, and I just had to come to Manchester when they told me there was a high chance of a slip happening today,”  
The other three faces drew into a furrow, it was hard to believe what the strange lad in front of them was saying, but the situation was that they were sat here now with a boy who held the key to Billy’s future, and the hard proof was lay in front of them in the form of a glossy magazine.  
After everything else that had happened that day, they had no other choice but to believe Ian.

“They also helped me a lot to understand the world we live in now, I’m taking you’ve realised a lot has changed?” Ian addressed the whole group.  
The three lads agreed in unison.  
“I’m going to have to get you all up to speed on that, there’s a lot I still don’t understand as well, don’t worry- but first, the biggest thing you need to understand is this…”  
He fished in his pocket and pulled out one of the plastic squares they had seen everybody and their dog carrying all day.  
“He’s got one of those _things!_... What…what is it?” Johnny exclaimed.  
“This?…This is the future…” Ian grinned, “And this is what is going to get us a roof over our head for the night.”

-

Johnny’s face had permanently screwed itself into a look of confusion regarding the object on the bed in front of them all.  
“So you’re telling me that some piece of plastic can call people like a phone and connect to that thing you said before- the intraset?”  
“Internet,” Steven corrected.  
“The _internet_ then…and it does a load of other stuff too?”  
Ian turned from where he was hanging his clothes up in the wardrobe that their hotel room provided,  
“Yep, and it’s also going to need a charge because the batteries don’t last two minutes in those damn things- give it here.”

With Ian’s expertise and the money Jake and Neil lent to him to find his future band-mate, they had secured a hotel room for the night.  
Ian had to cut costs though, as he had now found not just one person, but three- so he opted to get them a room with only one double bed.   
They would have to share- like it or lump it. Compared to the icy metal benches in bus stations Ian was used to, this was heaven. 

“As far as I know for now- we are all stuck here, so you’d better get used to it…I think we need an action plan for how we’re going to survive.”  
Ian slumped down on the king size bed, the other lads now noticing how frail and thin he looked in just his tank top and boxers.  
Billy’s eyes scanned over his future band-mate, and he couldn’t help but feel worried at the clearly undernourished lad that was in front of him.   
Wherever Ian had come from in the seventies- it hadn’t been kind to him.

“Are you used to…well, surviving?” Billy chanced.  
All of a sudden, he became uncomfortably aware of how much he had taken for granted the warmth and solidity of his Mother’s home.  
“Bit of a weird question that lad, I know you’re destined to become future band mates and all, but that’s a bit personal, innit?” Johnny remarked as he also took to removing his coat.  
“No it’s alright- he can ask me whatever…but I am I guess you could say, yeah, before I got here I was following bands around the country and sleeping rough most nights, I take you lot are also into punk?”  
Johnny and Billy nodded in unison.  
“Steven over there runs his own New York Dolls fan club, that’s more his bag,” Billy pointed out the sullen boy in the corner who had still refused to even remove his satchel bag from over his shoulder and sit down.   
“Alright, nice…but yeah I’ll sort us out don’t worry, you big load of mummy’s boys,” Ian teased, flashing a toothy grin.

“I was going to be leaving home soon I swear, The Nosebleeds were going to take off!” a slightly embarrassed Billy exclaimed.   
“Oh shit that’s…actually a point…” Johnny piped up from where he was leant nonchalantly against the wall near the door to the en-suite bathroom.  
“What’s up?” Ian asked.  
A slightly reserved Johnny slunk back over to where his coat was hung up, and retrieved two books from the deep pockets inset into its lining.   
“Well, I think from the people in this room right now it’s fairly clear that The Nosebleeds broke up,” Johnny looked to the other three faces in the room, and then the magazine hanging out of the other coat on the rack.

They hadn’t considered that.   
It had been obvious from the earlier pictures in the book that Johnny found credited to his future self, that The Nosebleeds had in fact broken up at some point, seen as he and Steven had ended up in _The Smiths_ together, but he hadn’t considered just how that had happened- or the affect it had on Steven and Billy’s friendship.

“I couldn’t resist…”  
The sixteen year-old held up two books; one being his own autobiography, and the other the autobiography that was credited to ‘Morrissey’.  
“You nicked the books?” Billy gasped.  
“What, didn’t think I was a capable shoplifter?” a fast as ever Johnny quipped back.   
“No I just…I’m kind of worried now, we had that gig coming up… me and Steven…”  
“I sort of…well, see for yourself…” Johnny began flicking though the thicker volume in his hands- the Morrissey book.

Ian, from where he was lay on the bed, retreated into himself, sensing the unease vastly expanding between Steven and Billy that somewhere along the line- he was to probably be the cause of.  
Tension was starting to grow between the four young men in the hotel room.  
Did Johnny really understand what he was doing right now?

“It says in this book that you, Billy, were asked to move to London to join a group called the _Studio Sweethearts_ after being spied by record label scout at that very gig you had coming up,”  
Steven’s stony gaze fell onto the chest of the guitarist of his band, and disappointment took to filling the rest of him in hard and fast.   
“And that Steven got left behind in Manchester…”  
Billy grew incredibly uncomfortable where he was sat on the bed next to Ian.   
A severely dejected Steven finally bore his eye-line into Billy’s.   
“Seriously? You just fucked off and left me?”  
“You ended up successful anyway,”   
Billy was grasping for straws to soothe the situation.  
“That’s not the point!” Steven’s voice was raising now.  
“Lads, lads…it all worked out in the end didn’t it?” Ian interjected.  
Johnny who didn’t quite fully understand the magnitude of his actions over the last two minutes was quietly placing the books back into his coat pocket.  
“This is why we shouldn’t know these things,” Steven threw a convicting pointed finger to Johnny, “ just like I’ve been telling you blathering idiots all day!” 

Perhaps Steven had been right- perhaps they shouldn’t have been prying their noses in information where they didn’t belong yet.


End file.
